


Hard Way Home

by bizzybee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Depressive Episode, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: It's not like Linhardt doesn't love Caspar. He does, really.He just wishes he were strong enough to tell him.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 9
Kudos: 165





	Hard Way Home

There’s nothing special going on when Caspar says it.

They're in the dining hall, like most days. Linhardt with a book propped up in front of his plate and Caspar, across from him, shoveling food into his mouth. 

When Linhardt glances up from his book, he sees Caspar's almost finished. Without thinking, he dishes the rest of his meal onto Caspar's plate. 

Caspar's fork clatters to the table. Linhardt looks up. 

"I love you," Caspar says. He swallows.

Linhardt blinks rapidly. He's not sure how to reply. He's not sure if he should. He needs to think, his mind is buzzing, but all that comes out is, "Um. Thanks."

"I should go," Caspar says then, face red from his collar to the tips of his ears. Linhardt is too tired to stop him, a weight on his shoulders that just grows heavier when Caspar stands, a half-full plate in his hands.

Linhardt squeezes his eyes shut, and the next time he opens them, Caspar is gone.

* * *

It's not that Linhardt doesn't love Caspar. He does, deeply. More than anything else in the world. 

He's just not quite sure what kind of love it is. And he surely wouldn't be able to know without conducting an experiment, he thinks. He cares too much about Caspar, though, to subject him to something so cruel. 

So instead, he wallows. He thinks. He lays on his back in his bed, wondering what it would feel like to have Caspar's lips on his. To have Caspar's rough hands, so gentle when he tries to be, roaming against his sides, his chest. 

He’s thought about it before. It seems - nice. It seems nice. Only now, it's making his brain feel befuddled. Too much to think about. Much too much. There's more important things going on right now. There's a war just outside their doors, and they're both a part of it. 

Love can't change that.

* * *

Some days, Linhardt can't get out of bed. He wakes up, tries to stand, and finds that something's stopping him. It's a heavy weight on his lap that pins him down, makes it hard for him to think, or move, or do much else than sit here and stare at the ceiling. 

He doesn't know how to explain it to people - how to show that it's not his fault he can't move. In pretending it's all a choice, he can control the narrative. Why should they believe him? When he looks the same, when he's lazy, when he's Linhardt? 

The only person who can see through it all is Caspar. 

Linhardt doesn't know why he feels surprised when Caspar bursts into his room in what he's pretty sure is the afternoon. Maybe it's his reaction, or lack of one, to Caspar's declaration yesterday. Maybe it's Linhardt's guilt over it. Maybe it's a myriad of other things that's making the weight in Linhardt's chest so heavy he can barely breathe.

"Hey, Linny," Caspar rambles, not even looking at him as he lets the door fall shut behind him. He cradles one hand in the other, continuing, "I kinda sliced my hand open on kitchen duty today and you're closer than Manuela, so-" Caspar cuts himself off. "Hey, Linhardt, you good?" 

Linhardt doesn't answer. He can’t even focus his sight on Caspar. Instead, he just watches the wall across from him. He'd like to move his head, at least. He can only wish he could. 

"Linhardt, come on buddy." Caspar walks over to Linhardt's bed, crouching so their gazes meet. "I need you to heal me." 

If it were anyone else, Linhardt would ignore them. Or turn to the other side. Or just fall asleep.

But it's Caspar. And Caspar knows Linhardt needs to feel useful when he gets like this, needs to find something to live for, even if it's as small as healing a cut on his best friend’s hand.

"Hey, man, come on. Look at me." 

Linhardt blinks. Slowly, Caspar comes into focus. "Caspar." 

"Yeah, it's me. Help?"

Linhardt takes a deep breath. He looks down. "Oh. Your hand." 

"My hand," Caspar agrees. "Help, please?" 

Linhardt groans, slowly rolling out his neck. He yawns and lifts his hands out from the covers, beckoning to Caspar. 

It's been a long time since blood has had an effect on Linhardt. At least, that is, in the moment of healing. In his dreams is another matter, but his apathy isn't falsified or forced when he takes Caspar's hand in his and peers carefully at the thin slice across his palm. It's deep, but clean. Easy fix. Even so, Linhardt has to dig deep to find the energy to do so, pressing one hand on top of Caspar's and forming a sigil with the other. 

"There," he says, and falls back onto his pillows.

"Thanks, Lin." Linhardt can hear Caspar's smile without even looking. Then, voice falling, he says, "Sorry for being dumb enough to cut my hand when I'm not even in battle, huh?"

"You're not dumb, Caspar." Linhardt frowns, opening his eyes to look at him. "It could've happened to anyone." 

"Yeah, but it happened to me." Caspar frowns back.

"Well, I don't think you're dumb." Linhardt raises his eyebrows. "I think you're pretty brave, actually." He takes Caspar's hand in his, giving it a soft kiss before letting their joined hands hang over the edge of the bed. He ignores Caspar's blush when he says, "We can't all be like you." 

Linhardt lets out a _humph_ as Caspar sits down heavily next to him. "Aw, come on Lin. Don't say that. You're plenty brave, too." 

Linhardt finds himself laughing, relaxing in the way the rough pads of Caspar's fingers brush and rub against the back of his hand. "You're the one that goes into battle."

"That doesn't mean anything," Caspar pouts, and Linhardt wants nothing more than to sit up and kiss that pout away. "I think for you," Caspar pauses, and it's the only time Linhardt has ever seen him stop to gather his words. "I think for you, sometimes even getting out of bed is brave." 

Linhardt thinks he just might cry. Instead, he says, "Caspar," and hopes the words he means to say find their way to Caspar's ears, anyway.

They sit for a moment in silence, looking at each other. 

"Well, I should probably, um, go, huh?" Caspar says, setting Linhardt's hand down by his side with a soft pat. "I can come back later to check on you." 

Linhardt wants to ask him to stay. He wants nothing more than to curl up around Caspar, to feel safe and warm inside his arms. He knows that he can't ask that, though. He knows it isn't fair.

* * *

It's a wonder what a good night's sleep can do for a person. 

Of course, if that person is Linhardt, it doesn't do much. But anything is something. Anything is something. 

At the very least, he's able to sit up, now. He's able to stand. He's able to get dressed. After getting dressed; however, he immediately sinks back into his covers. That's enough for the day, he thinks. He can sleep now.

This time when Caspar comes, it's with food. 

"Linhardt," he says, not even knocking. "I made you soup!" 

Linhardt groans in response. 

"Ugh, fine. Ashe made it. But I helped! And I'm the one that's bringing it." 

Linhardt doesn't reply. 

Caspar takes his seat at the edge of the bed again, holding the tray in his lap. "Come on, Linny. Can you sit up for just a little bit? I think soup will help you feel better." 

Linhardt's exhausted already, but he summons enough energy to bite back, "Oh I can imagine. Especially if you didn't make it." 

He snorts at the swat Caspar gives him on the leg. "That was mean, Lin. Now, let's go." After a pause, Caspar says, voice almost a whisper, "I'm worried about you." 

Linhardt sighs. He slowly pushes himself up. He leans against the headboard. He's tired. "There," he says. 

Caspar beams. "Awesome, here." He shoves the tray into Linhardt's lap, the spoon into his hand. 

Linhardt slowly begins to eat, his eyes on Caspar, Caspar watching him. He thinks the soup must be good, if Ashe made it, but it's tasteless, like hot water in his mouth. He forces it down, anyway. 

When he finally finishes, he slumps back, exhausted. "There." And then, after a pause, because 'there' isn't the only sentence he's capable of, "Thank you, Caspar." 

Caspar grins. "Of course! I'll always take care of you, Lin." 

And there it is again, Caspar's feelings. Bubbling just beneath the surface. Waiting for Linhardt to reach out and acknowledge them. Waiting for reciprocation.

Instead, Linhardt says, "You know you don't have to worry about me, right? I'm okay." 

Caspar's smile widens. "I'm gonna worry about you, anyway." He takes the tray from Linhardt, standing. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow?" 

"Mm. One way or the other." 

He's already asleep by the time the door shuts behind him.

* * *

The third day, Caspar doesn't come. Linhardt thinks it's a full day, but he's honestly not sure. He spends the day staring at the wall, in and out of sleep. 

* * *

The fourth day, Linhardt wakes up drowsy. He's determined, though. Slowly, surely, he swings his legs over the side of his bed. He pushes himself to his feet. 

That's when Caspar, once again, bursts into Linhardt's room. "Lin, I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday I-" he stops, blinking at Linhardt. "Oh! You're up." 

Linhardt nods blearily. 

"Do you need to sit?" 

Linhardt sits. "I was going to come find you," he mumbles by way of explanation. 

Caspar laughs. He sits next to Linhardt. "Well, I found you instead." 

A beat.

"How are you feeling?" Caspar asks. 

Linhardt shrugs. 

"Is it a big one, do you think?" Caspar asks. He's with no doubt thinking of that month a few years ago, when Linhardt didn't leave his room for weeks on end. He relied on Caspar to bring him both food and news, and spent his days with little company besides the ever present weight in his chest. 

"I don't think so." Linhardt stares at his lap. "I believe I'm feeling a bit better, today." 

"Wanna head to the dining hall? Get something to eat?" 

Linhardt wrinkles his nose. 

"...Or not! You can come watch me train if you want? Or we can visit Bernadetta in her room? Or whatever you want. Whatever you wanna do, Lin." 

"Dining hall is fine," Linhardt says. "I'm not changing, though." Thankfully, he's wearing the clothes from a few days ago, though they're much more wrinkled than what is probably deemed presentable. 

"All right!" Of course. If there's anyone who cares less about presentability, it's Caspar. "You wanna stand?" 

Linhardt nods. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up, Caspar popping up next to him. Linhardt's back cracks, his muscles complain from days of disuse, but he accepts the door Caspar holds open for him, blinking into the soft afternoon sunlight. 

"I think they're serving meat skewers today, but I can get them to whip something together for you," Caspar rambles as they walk towards the dining hall. "It's a special occasion! You're out of your room!" 

Linhardt smiles a wry smile. "I don't believe it's _that_ special of an occasion, but alright."

"Super special," Caspar argues. "Let me have this one." 

Linhardt shrugs and nods in defeat. 

Soon, they're seated, Linhardt with another bowl of soup in front of him, Caspar with a plate of skewers. Linhardt eats slowly, exhaustion creeping into the edges of his vision. 

He watches Caspar, who's attacking his plate with gusto, chewing with his mouth open. It’s as endearing as it is disgusting. And Linhardt’s struck with a sudden fondness for his friend, for the way he goes into anything with passion, for the way his heart is guileless and full of love for everyone he meets, for everything about him.

He wants to brush down the cowlick at the back of Caspar’s head. He wants to trace his freckles with his fingertips. He wants to commission an artwork of him, here, in the dining hall, with the sun illuminating his smile just so. He wants to- "I'm in love with you," Linhardt says without preamble, blinking in surprise at his own realization.. 

Caspar drops his skewer. "Huh?" 

"Yes," Linhardt concedes, and the words feel more familiar, less foreign the second time. He says each word slowly, getting used to the way his mouth forms each syllable. "I'm in love with you." 

A beat.

"Me, too!" Caspar almost yells, and Linhardt ducks his head, chasing away the blush he can feel rising to his cheeks. "Fuck, Lin. I love you. A lot. Sure took you long enough to say it back, asshole." 

"I'm sorry," Linhardt says, and he glances up at Caspar, suddenly shy under his intense blue gaze. "I was… you know." 

"I'm not mad." Caspar shrugs goodnaturedly. "Now finish your soup." 

Linhardt does, and then waits while Caspar clears both their trays. 

"How are you feeling?" Caspar says when he comes back, and Linhardt thinks he could get used to the way the question is accompanied by a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Linhardt yawns. "I think I need to rest again." 

"Oh! Yeah, sure. That's fine." He can tell Caspar's trying to hide his disappointment, but he's never been good at that. It's a good thing it’s endearing

"Tomorrow, though," Linhardt says as Caspar helps him to his feet. "If I'm feeling up to it, can I come watch you train?" 

Caspar's face goes red. "Um, yeah! I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." 

Linhardt smiles.

When they reach Linhardt’s room, Caspar lingers outside the door, his grip tightening on Linhardt's arm. "Are you gonna be okay?" 

Linhardt resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Caspar." 

Caspar breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good." 

"It's sweet that you worry." Linhardt turns to him. 

"Oh, um, it's cool." Caspar laughs. "I just want you to be safe, is all." 

They stare at each other in silence. 

"Should I go?" Caspar asks, then clears his throat. "Or I mean, I should go? I should go." 

"You don't have to." 

"What?" 

And then, Linhardt's kissing him. 

And then, Caspar's kissing back. 

And then, they're parting, and Linhardt's forehead is resting on Caspar's shoulder, and Caspar is practically holding him up. 

"Stay with me?" Linhardt says. "I really do need to rest, but I wouldn't be entirely opposed if you wanted to nap with me." 

"Um, fuck yes." Caspar pumps his arm.

Linhardt smiles. "Let's go, then." 

Soon, they're in bed, Caspar's arms wrapped around Linhardt as he presses soft kisses to the crown of Linhardt's head. 

It's comfortable. It's warm. 

As Linhardt falls into sleep, he feels something else, something he’s been chasing to find for Goddess knows how long.. 

It's home.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're all staying safe and healthy in these uncertain times. 
> 
> [tumblr](https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429)


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